


Hypothetically: Faeries

by JenNova



Series: Famous Last Words [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Faeries Made Them Do It, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenNova/pseuds/JenNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Not the point,” Stiles says. “The point is - <i>actual</i> faeries. Tall, creepy, pale, fake pretty, you-better-have-some-cold-iron-handy <i>faeries</i>! I mean, what the hell, man, what the hell.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypothetically: Faeries

**Author's Note:**

> This is going up earlier than usual (the schedule will generally be wee-hours-of-the-morning Saturdays UK time) because I'm away to a Very Big House In The Country this weekend.
> 
> The response to the first part of this was seriously amazing and I've been immensely flattered by everything people have said. Thank you so much for reading and I hope this doesn't disappoint!
> 
> See the end notes for a full description of the dub-con.

It should've been been weird. Derek had expected it to be weird. He'd been exposed, well, they'd both been exposed and it should've been weird. It wasn't. Jackson was the first to make a joke and Erica teased them both gently. Boyd rolled his eyes and Isaac seemed to swing between being worried it would happen again and evil glee. Isaac's personality quirks have never become easier to understand.

They'd been hyper aware of each other for a few weeks and Derek had caught himself thinking about it a few more times than he strictly should have. Mostly when he caught a low wave of arousal spilling off Stiles in his direction. He'd done his best to ignore it and he'd been succeeding right up until a couple of hunters pinned them down and Derek had to cover Stiles with his body.

“Really?” he'd whispered as the scent caught in his nose. He hadn't been able to stop the snort of laughter.

“Seriously, what do you expect?” Stiles had shot back, rolling his eyes. “I'm a horny teenager, remember, literally no control over all of this. And you're, you know, objectively the hottest thing around. And, _crucially_ , I have _had sex with you_.”

Derek had shook with silent laughter, desperately trying to muffle it against Stiles' neck so he didn't give them away, and Stiles had retaliated by digging fingers into Derek's sides.

After that it got easy and eventually the hits of arousal disappeared, fading first into the background and then going completely when Danny finally gave into Stiles' determination and new-found confidence.

(“So gay guys do find me attractive!” Stiles had started a conversation with and Derek had pushed him over, gently, in response. Stiles had laughed, flushed with happiness, and Derek had been pleased for him.)

It makes it easy to bury away the vague undercurrent of _maybe_ that had nagged at him in the days after. Stiles was young and Derek...wasn't and even though they were both carrying their share of issues Derek really didn't think it was a good idea to smash them together to see if something would stick.

Senior year starts with a bang – witches turn out to be a thing that Derek's family never bothered to warn him about, a rash of mountain lion attacks end up being werecats (“There haven't been werecats in North America for over a hundred years! It's not my fault we weren't prepared for this.”) and in the weeks before Christmas a rival pack decides to challenge for territory.

Then it's endless college preparation and Derek's really just incredibly glad they're going to be out of high school drama hell, even if it means splitting them up all over the country. Allison and Scott are on again and he's settled enough that his grades are back where they were before being bitten – so they're heading to the same college. Derek feels like its probably uncharitable to be excited about it (they're going to be a few hours away) but Scott has turned into the _worst little brother ever_ and he's looking forward to the space.

Stiles is going to Berkeley, of course, and Lydia's going away to MIT, dragging an embarrassingly co-dependent Jackson with her. Derek only knows that Danny will be joining Boyd at NYU because Stiles keeps worrying at the concept of a long-distance relationship around him. Derek has no advice to give because relationships have never exactly been his strong point.

Isaac is staying, going to a community college at Stiles' insistence, and Erica is heading north to UW. It turns out that Derek actually bit a bunch of incredibly smart kids, instead of just the lonely and lost, and it's now backfiring because he's going to be left behind. Except for Isaac. Two werewolves are not enough to protect a territory.

So it's probably a good thing that he now has an alliance with Chris Argent _and_ the Sheriff. Not that Stiles had approved of the way his Dad found out (when he stumbled over them during the werecat situation) but Derek's actually pretty sure it's the only reason Stiles is happy to go away for college.

Summer finds everyone alternating between excitement about college and worry about Derek. It's a cloying taste in his mouth and he's having a hard time dealing with the way the pack keeps looking at him so he spends a lot of time in the Preserve, finding quiet places to think.

Stiles finds him, he always does – he calls it his Derek sense. Or, as he'd put it at the time: “I just think about where I'd go if I felt like brooding and looking mysterious against impressive skylines.” Derek doesn't brood that much, now, but he admits that the time Stiles found him sitting on a rocky outcrop, staring at nothing and generally feeling sorry for himself was pretty bad.

A week after a crazed serial killer shifter sweeps through town Derek finds himself on that same rocky outcrop, wondering how hard it'll be to deal with these problems without the pack, without Stiles at his back. Stiles finds him about half an hour after he gets there and Derek sighs. Stiles doesn't say anything, just sits next to Derek and presses their legs together, offering comfort.

“We'll come back if you need us,” Stiles says about an hour later, leaning into Derek's side. “Me and Scott. Allison. We're only a phonecall away.”

“I know,” Derek admits, leaning back into Stiles. “You know I'm proud of you. All of you.”

“Yeah, we know,” Stiles says, quiet warmth in his voice. “I still think you should pick up some classes too. You need something to distract you from the brooding.”

“I don't brood,” Derek says, enjoying the familiarity of the argument. Stiles pokes him and laughs.

“You totally brood,” Stiles says, resting his head against Derek's shoulder. “It's part of your overall -” he pauses and waves a hand through the air “- mystique.”

“My mystique,” Derek repeats, turning his head to look down at Stiles'.

“It's a very rugged, manly sort of mystique,” Stiles says, grinning. “Hey – if you take classes you might meet yourself a lady. Or a dude. That would be a pretty great distraction.”

“I don't really need that,” Derek says.

“You might realise you do,” Stiles says, grin shrinking down into a small smile. “When there's no teenage romance to live vicariously through.”

Derek waits because he knows Stiles is bringing this subject up for a reason. Sure he could pull the words out of Stiles if he tried – for all the fun Stiles has made of Derek's speaking habits over the years _Stiles_ is the one who very rarely talks about the important things – but he waits. His patience is rewarded five minutes later.

“So. Danny broke up with me,” Stiles says, shifting restlessly, his hands flaring out. Derek catches it then, the scent of fading sadness drifting off Stiles.

“Oh,” Derek says. He's never been good at this, at what to say when one of the pack is heartbroken. Stiles doesn't smell the way the others have when their boyfriends or girlfriends have broken up with them. On a scale of one to Scott's endless Allison based misery Stiles is barely rating a two.

“Yeah,” Stiles lets out a breath and brings his hands back to his lap, curling long fingers into fists. Derek moves the arm pressed between them and wraps it around Stiles' shoulders. This time the breath Stiles lets out is a lot shakier.

“How do you feel?” Derek asks, feeling like he's testing the ice on a frozen lake. He wonders sometimes if this was what it was like for Laura – dealing with him after a few times he tried being with people. She never seemed as awkward about it as he feels.

“Okay?” Stiles suggests, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “It was almost mutual, really. We're going to be so far apart and I just – I don't really _seriously_ love him. He's amazing but he's not the endgame, last level guy, you know?”

Derek has an idea though he's always assumed that the romantic notion of 'the one' isn't something he gets to believe in. He's trying to get better about that. Maybe Stiles is right and he should try dating.

“Does he love you?” Derek asks, idly curious. He doesn't think he's heard either Stiles or Danny say the words, not like the others do – throwing it about like it doesn't even really mean anything.

“I think we're pretty much both in the same place,” Stiles says, another shrug. “We never really said it. Beyond the times where, you know, you sort of can't help it.”

Derek feels rather than sees the blush, Stiles' skin heating up where one of Derek's fingers has slipped under the sleeve of Stiles' t-shirt. He fights the twitch of his lips.

“Are you going to be okay?” Derek asks, rubbing his hand up and down Stiles' arm. Physical comfort he knows how to do, that's _pack_.

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” Stiles says, lifting his head and shooting Derek a half-smile. “Scott'll get me drunk when he finds out, I'll probably cry a bit and then I'll be ready for all the college tail I'm going to get.”

“Tail,” Derek repeats, huffing out the edge of a laugh. Stiles elbows him and laughs openly. Derek's not sure when he became the first person Stiles tells when something important happens (though their definitions of important don't always match up). He has a feeling it was sometime after Scott and Isaac became weirdly attached to each other and Stiles felt left out.

He tries not to think about it too much.

“Seriously though,” Stiles says when he sobers. “Think about classes, please? And people? We just want you to be happy while we're away.”

“I know,” Derek says, squeezing Stiles briefly. He's only just getting the hang of being happy again, edging around it and feeling the shape of it and what it means to him. Stiles, the others, they've been a part of that and he really doesn't know what it's going to be like without them, with just Isaac.

“Promise me you'll think about it?” Stiles presses because he's never met a line he didn't want to snap in half. Derek blows out a long breath.

“Promise,” he says and Stiles sinks into his side like that was all he needed to hear.

They'll sit here for another hour or so and this is what Derek will miss most of all – the times where Stiles is quiet and _there_.

–

“Goddamn shitfucking cockshit _fuck_ , are you fucking kidding me,” Stiles grumbles as he trails behind Boyd. “I mean witches, fine, whatever, I kinda expected that with some of the stuff Deaton's shown me. The whole fucking rainbow of werecreatures? Also fine, why not? But faeries – give me a fucking break.”

Boyd doesn't say anything but Stiles is good at reading his body language these days – those are the shoulders of 'Judging Stiles' and, no, he won't have that because _faeries_.

“Not sparkly fluttery Tinkerbell fairies,” Stiles continues, kicking viciously at a branch laying across the path. “Although, Tinkerbell was pretty vicious, actually, did you know she wanted the Lost Boys to kill Wendy at one point?”

Boyd snorts and Stiles glowers at his back.

“Not that point,” Stiles says. “The point is - _actual_ faeries. Tall, creepy, pale, fake pretty, you-better-have-some-cold-iron-handy _faeries_! I mean, what the hell, man, what the hell.”

“We got out okay,” Boyd says over his shoulder and Stiles stares at him.

“Seriously?” Stiles asks. “That's seriously what you're going with? Faeries show up in the middle of our territory and 'we got out okay' is all you've got?”

“Did they do anything to you?” Boyd asks, pausing and turning to look over Stiles. Stiles feels his skin heat up under the look.

“No, I don't think so,” Stiles says, waving his hands. “I mean – I was careful with what I said and I didn't, whatever, _eat_ anything they offered me. I stuck to all the rules I know and some I probably made up.”

“So – we got out okay,” Boyd says. He shrugs and turns back to forging a path for Stiles.

They had been in a part of the Preserve they normally don't worry about because it's so deeply tucked away. But Derek had said he could feel something out of balance in the territory and given that Stiles was head of Weird Shit for the pack he'd volunteered to look. He'd not expected the fucking faeries.

“I mean – what are they even _doing_ here?” Stiles asks explosively. Boyd winces at the volume of his voice. “I thought that kind of faerie was indigenous to Europe.”

“I don't really think faeries work like that,” Boyd says and Stiles can tell he's making a face just by the set of his shoulders. “Pretty sure they go wherever the hell they want.”

“This is such bullshit,” Stiles sniffs. “If Derek knew about this I'm going to kill him.”

“No, you're not,” Boyd says with complete confidence. Stiles scowls at him.

“Okay, probably not,” Stiles says, squeezing his hands into fists. “But I'd give it a pretty good try. Did you see the way the one with the red hair touched me? Talk about the Bad Touch. Jesus.”

“I think they wanted to keep you,” Boyd throws over his shoulder.

That's the problem, really. The faeries had been freakishly interested in Stiles – kept on calling him 'the boy who runs with wolves', which was a cliché Erica would've enjoyed hearing, and poking and prodding at him like he held all the world's secrets. Stiles is pretty sure he only made it through on bravado and their curiosity. Boyd standing behind him probably helped.

They break onto a trail at last, the faeries had grabbed them and pulled some kind of weird disorientation thing on them – good thing Boyd has an amazing sense of direction. Boyd turns in a direction that Stiles thinks, from the sun, is toward Derek's house.

“I thought we were going for my Jeep,” Stiles says, lengthening his stride so he can walk beside Boyd. Boyd is one of the few werewolves that makes an effort to keep Stiles' humanity in mind – which is the only reasons Stiles can keep up with him right now.

“Derek wants to see you,” Boyd says, holding up his phone. Stiles snorts.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, rolling his eyes. “He's never happy I'm okay until he can put his hands all over me.”

“He's always been weird about you,” Boyd says with a shrug. “We got used to it years ago.”

Stiles tries not to flush red at the reminder because Derek's weirdness about him is something he's never managed to get a hold on. He's nowhere near as weird about the other humans in the pack. It doesn't come from some sort of secret-mushy-feelings place, either, because Derek might have a great poker face but Stiles is a total badass at reading him – Derek wouldn't be able to hide that from him. His only consolation is that Derek didn't get weirder after the whole sex wolfsbane thing. Stiles had been genuinely worried about that.

Stiles mostly doesn't think about it until it comes up – which is more frequent than he'd like what with all the life and death situations they seem to find themselves in. Come to think of it, actually, Stiles gets pretty weird about Derek himself when Derek gets into trouble without him. Clearly they were meant to be. Weird at each other, that is.

Stiles laughs weakly when they realise the faeries dropped them only twenty minutes walking distance, at human speed, from the Hale house. He's idly wondering if the faerie Court had even _actually_ been in the Preserve or if they'd been pulled into an other world when they come into the clearing around the house. Derek is waiting on the porch, arms folded tightly across his chest and his entire posture tense. He jumps down the stairs, because werewolves are allergic to stairs, and takes two steps toward them before pausing.

Stiles stops automatically because he recognises the shift of intent in Derek's posture. He sees Derek's nose flare and his eyes flash, which rarely happens without his express permission. Stiles puts a hand out to stop Boyd.

“You need to get out of here,” Stiles says, watching Derek struggle with himself. “You need to do it now.”

“What -” Boyd starts but Stiles pushes a hand against his chest and he stops.

“I mean it,” he says. “Go. _Now_.”

It's a credit to how well trained Stiles has the pack that Boyd listens to that tone of voice. The 'listen to me right the fuck now' voice Stiles only uses when he's saving their lives. He feels Boyd disappearing back into the trees and watches some of the struggle leech out of Derek's body.

“One week,” Stiles says, taking slow, careful steps towards Derek. “I just wanted one week to be completely normal, as normal as I get, before I go to college. Instead I get faeries, Derek, _faeries_.”

Derek is frighteningly still, his eyes going from green to red and back again, and his hands are fists at his side. He's almost vibrating on the spot and it would be funny if Stiles didn't have a very bad feeling about this.

“So help me, Derek, if you knew about this -” Stiles stops and lets out a frustrated breath. “I don't even have a good threat to back that up with. I'm just tired – I have no idea how long they had us but it felt like a long time.”

“It wasn't,” Derek bites out and there's a hint of fangs in his mouth. Stiles struggles to keep his heartbeat even. “It was barely an hour.”

“Good to know,” Stiles says, stopping just out of his reach. “Tell me what you're feeling.”

“I want to -” Derek stops and closes his eyes, flexing his hands. “I want to push you down and fucking _mount you_. Like a _dog_ , Stiles. I'm not a fucking dog.”

“No, you're not,” Stiles says softly. “But I get the feeling She wanted you to be. Faeries get off on that sort of thing.”

“I won't do it,” Derek says, opening his eyes. He puts his hands behind his back and stares at Stiles. “But I have to do something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says, eyes flicking down to the obvious bulge pressing at the front of Derek's jeans. “I can see that. Do you want me to -” he makes a gesture to it and tries for a smile. He doesn't succeed. “I mean – Danny, he taught me some things -”

Derek growls at the mention of Danny's name and steps into Stiles' personal space before he can stop himself. He holds Stiles' eyes and Stiles can see the sweat beading across his forehead.

“Not mentioning the D-word, got it,” Stiles says, holding his hands up. “Why didn't it affect -”

“I'm the Alpha,” Derek says and Stiles can't not laugh because it's been so long since he's heard Derek do that. Derek frowns at him before realising what he's said. His mouth flicks into a rueful smile.

“Are the others nearby?” Stiles asks, reaching a hand out to touch Derek's neck. Derek leans into the touch and makes a soft noise.

“Close enough to call,” Derek says. He licks his lips which gives Stiles all sorts of ideas and wakes his cock up. Touching Derek may have been a bad idea. “Why?”

“Because I figure She's probably still watching,” Stiles says, rubbing a thumb up to brush over Derek's stubble. “And we need a plan.”

“I can't think when I need to do this,” Derek says, bringing his hands around to clutch at Stiles' hips. “Why is it only me who gets hit?”

“Probably because I'm the brains,” Stiles says, walking them back towards the house. “Or because I'm just the puny human.”

“You're not,” Derek says, eyes flashing and hands tightening.

“Easy, big guy,” Stiles says, squeezing his hand. “We know that. They don't.”

“What do you need them to do?” Derek asks, breathing deeply and getting some control back.

“Can't say, can't think it,” Stiles says, happy for once that his brain is running the equivalent of a hundred programs at once, hiding his intent. “Get inside the house and I'll text them.”

Derek pulls himself away reluctantly and almost runs for the house. Stiles tugs his phone out and tries not to think about what he's typing as he texts what he needs to the others. He puts it back in his pocket and follows Derek into the house, breathing deep and setting his shoulders.

Derek's on him as he shuts the door behind him. He doesn't do anything beyond pinning him to the door, eyes hazy with lust and chest heaving slightly. Enclosed space, Stiles thinks idly, probably making whatever She did ten times worse.

“So,” Stiles says. He cups Derek's cheek, sweeps a thumb over one of those ridiculous cheekbones. “Here we are again.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek says. His voice is weak and shattered and Stiles tilts his head into Derek's space, presses a brief kiss of reassurance against his lips.

“We can find another way,” Stiles says, pressing their foreheads together. “There's probably something in the lore -”

“No time,” Derek says, his breath heavy.

“Why?” Stiles asks. “Talk to me Derek.”

“It's like – like a switch in my head,” Derek says, clearly struggling for words. “Now that it's been flipped I'm not going to stop until I've done something. You won't be able to stop me looking.”

“And they others won't be able to resist if you go all Alpha on them, okay,” Stiles pulls back and nods. “Well. That's what the buddy system's for after all.”

Derek huffs out a laugh and drops his head to sniff at Stiles' neck, breathing in his scent. Stiles lets him while he thinks about the best way to do this. He'd pretty much assumed the sex thing was going to be a one time occurrence so he's not exactly prepared for this.

“What do you need,” Stiles says, stroking one hand soothingly down Derek's back. “What's going to get this done?”

“You're sure,” Derek says, his words muffled against Stiles' skin.

“I'm sure,” Stiles confirms. “Whatever it takes, you know that.”

“I need to touch you,” Derek says, hands going to Stiles' hips. He presses a knee between Stiles' thighs and rocks up. Stiles bites back a moan. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles' voice comes out hoarse. He clears his throat. “Yeah, touch me.”

Derek moans and opens his mouth against the flesh of Stiles' neck, pressing wet kisses there. His hands slide under Stiles' t-shirt, fingers digging into his sides. Derek's hands are inhumanly hot on Stiles' skin and Stiles can feel himself heating up by turn. Like a circuit being closed – because all he can think about suddenly is never letting Derek stop this.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes when Derek's teeth scrape over his pulse point. “Derek, you can't -”

“I know,” Derek says, pulling away from Stiles' neck. “I want to, but I won't.”

“Okay, good,” Stiles shudders as Derek grinds his thigh up again. Stiles grinds down against the pressure and shifts so that he can press against Derek's trapped erection. Derek groans and it's like a shot of heat to Stiles' cock.

Derek leans in and kisses the corner of Stiles' mouth and Stiles turns to catch him for a proper kiss. He's gotten a lot better at this since the last time he kissed Derek – a lot of practice with Danny – and now he wants to show off. He licks into Derek's mouth, fisting a hand into Derek's hair and holding him close. Derek makes a noise into the kiss and Stiles swallows it down, rutting against Derek's leg.

They break and there's a breathless scuffle as they pull each other's shirts off, hands desperate for skin. Stiles slides his hands up Derek's abdomen and over his chest, shaping the ridiculously sculpted body with his fingers.

“I know I've said this before,” Stiles says, leaning his head down to suck a kiss against Derek's shoulder. “But your body is ridiculous.”

“I like it,” Derek says, hands circling Stiles' biceps, thumbs tracing some pattern Stiles can't discern. “Keeping it keeps me busy.”

“I'll bet,” Stiles says, tilting his head back for another kiss. This time he invites Derek in, sucking hard on his tongue while running his hands down to grip Derek's ass and bring him close.

Derek's hands find Stiles' belt buckle and he makes quick work of it, pulling Stiles' jeans open and reaching in for Stiles' cock. Stiles breaks the kiss on a rough exhalation, hips hitching forward. Derek's mouth is kiss-reddened and wet and, God, the uses Stiles can think of for it.

“You've got an incredible mouth,” Stiles finds himself staying, listening as if from a distance. He's never been a good dirty talker. “Can think of a way you could use it.”

It's apparently the right thing to say because Derek's eyes go dark, pupils blowing wide, and he licks his lips. Stiles jerks forward against the continued pressure of Derek's hand against his cock.

“You want that?” Derek asks, rubbing slowly over the heated flesh. Stiles lifts a hand and traces the outline of Derek's mouth with a thumb.

“Fuck, yes,” he says when Derek parts his lips and sucks briefly at his thumb. “If you – if that's okay. We still okay?”

“We're still okay,” Derek says, sounding wholly himself for a moment. Then he drops to his knees and Stiles is afraid he's about to black out.

Sometimes he wishes he had coherent feelings about Derek – he's pretty sure there's a possibility that if he did he'd get to see this all the time. Derek's graceful about it in a way Stiles has never been able to pull off. He settles easily and hooks his fingers into Stiles' boxers and jeans to pull them down. He gets them as far down as Stiles' knees before he's leaning in and nuzzling at Stiles' crotch.

It'd be adorable if it wasn't actually incredibly filthy.

“If you could see yourself,” Stiles says, reaching for Derek's hair. He keeps his grip loose, he just really needs the contact. “Jesus, this is hot.”

Derek presses Stiles back against the door with hands splayed across his hips. The last time they'd enacted this protocol had involved a lot more of Stiles touching Derek – feeling the focus the other way around is making Stiles feel lightheaded. Derek's hands feel bigger on him than he'd expected and they're so warm that he just wants to sink into them. Derek slides one across to wrap around the base of Stiles' cock and moves the other down to free his own. He doesn't take it out but does press the heel of his hand against it and that, for some reason, makes Stiles' mouth go dry.

Derek closes his mouth around the head of Stiles' cock and, holy shit, his mouth runs just as hot as the rest of him. It's tight and wet and glorious and Stiles is slightly worried that he's going to come from this alone. Derek jacks him with his hand as he moves down in increments, bobbing his head and getting spit everywhere and sex really is _incredibly_ gross but shit, this is hot. Stiles' hips jerk forward and he feels his cock hit the back of Derek's throat. Derek glares at him and Stiles laughs, unable to help himself because that's so _Derek_.

Derek is good at this, which shouldn't surprise Stiles anymore because Derek is good at lot of things but it does. Derek doesn't talk about sex much, or partners or anything like that, so Stiles has never been able to figure out if Derek is celibate by choice or for some other reason. He'd obviously enjoyed being fucked, the memory of which sends a flash of heat through Stiles' body, which Stiles thinks means he'd probably done it before. He's clearly given head before as well because he's doing things that even Danny had never done, and Danny had done _a lot_.

Stiles pushes Danny out of his mind because it seems wrong to bring him into this. He focuses instead on the slick _slide_ of Derek's mouth over his cock, on the way he disappears into that tight, hot space, on Derek's free hand pressing rhythmically against his own cock. Stiles licks his lips then bites the lower as Derek twists his hand and sucks. The moan is unconscious and heartfelt and he feels Derek echo it around his cock.

“Touch yourself,” Stiles says, staring down at Derek. Derek meets his eyes and the heat in them should be terrifying but Stiles trusts Derek with things a lot more important than his cock on a daily basis so Stiles just doesn't care.

Derek takes his hand off Stiles' cock, sliding his mouth off and moving down to suck Stiles' balls into it as he uses both hands to work his jeans and briefs down, freeing his cock. Derek's cock is straining up and Stiles sort of desperately wants to touch it himself but the thought is shaken out of his brain when Derek moves his mouth back to the head of Stiles' cock. He licks over it before taking up his grip again, working Stiles' cock like he was born to do it. Stiles can't stop his hips now and with both hands busy Derek can't stop him either. He watches Derek fist his cock, little thrusts driving himself up into his own grip, and it's like that breaks the dam of noises he's been storing in his chest.

He moans and speaks nonsense, praises Derek's mouth and his hands and how unbelievably hot this whole thing is. Derek occasionally makes noises in reply but they're muffled by Stiles' cock and _Stiles' cock_ is in Derek's mouth. It should be bizarre and weird but it really, _really_ isn't.

“Close,” Stiles breathes, both hands twisted into Derek's hair now. Derek meets his eyes and nods. “Are we – do you – can I?”

Derek makes a spectacularly hot noise and Stiles tightens his grip. He guesses that's a yes and that sets off a chain reaction inside him, building up from the base of his spine and rippling through his whole body. Derek jacks him harder and moves his mouth back a bit to work his tongue just under the head and Stiles' whole focuses narrows down to that hot point and he's coming and _Derek is swallowing_. He's absently aware that Derek's coming with him, stripes of white hitting the hardwood floor beneath them and isn't _that_ going to be an interesting stain to get out?

His cock slips from Derek's mouth and Derek's head ends up resting against the crease of his thigh. Stiles pets him because it's quite literally the only thing he's capable of. The only reason he's still standing is that Derek has a hand against one of his hips, holding him up.

“How -” Stiles voice sticks in his throat and he swallows dryly. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Derek says, the word spoken directly against Stiles leg. “Think that was enough. You?”

“You noticed?” Stiles asks instead of answering. He raises a slightly shaky hand and runs it through his hair.

“Feedback,” Derek says, his breath is warm against Stiles' flesh. “When we touched each other. Like we were meant to.”

“I don't think we were meant to,” Stiles says, rubbing his fingers over the nape of Derek's neck. “Not on equal footing. Which is. Really gross if you think about what you wanted to do to me at first. Making me enjoy it even if I didn't want it. Faeries fucking suck.”

“Guess the stories are right,” Derek says, leaning back on his heels and tucking himself away. “The real ones.”

“This is still complete bullshit though,” Stiles says, his post-orgasm high being replaced by his indignance at the situation. “Did you know they were real?”

“I really didn't,” Derek stands while Stiles tucks his cock away and rezips his jeans. “I really wish I had.”

“You and me both,” Stiles says, taking his shirt when Derek hands it to him. “She said she wanted this territory. I said she couldn't have it. Obviously she wasn't as happy with that I as I thought.”

Derek looks up suddenly, his eyes distant and his nostrils flaring. That would be the look Stiles privately refers to as 'someone's in the well'. Privately because he wouldn't dare make that reference in front of Derek – the glare of 'shut up Stiles' still causes a Pavlovian reaction of _oh shit_ in him.

“What is it?” Stiles asks, manfully stopping himself from adding 'boy' onto the end.

“A wrong smell,” Derek says, his nose screwing up.

“That's what Boyd said just before we were grabbed,” Stiles points out. He pulls his shirt over his head. “You still got that fire set Lydia bought?”

There's a huge fireplace in the house that never gets used. Stiles isn't really sure why Derek had it built when he never uses it. He suspects it's a tangled mess of reasons that's going to take him a few years to work out. Derek follows him and takes the heavy shovel thing when Stiles hands it to him. Stiles is a traditionalist and singles out the poker for his own uses. He swings it a couple of times, getting a feel for the weight.

“They won't be able to get in here,” Stiles says, going back to the front door. Derek shoots him a look. “You'll see.”

There's only one faerie when Stiles opens the door. It's the Queen, raven haired and painfully beautiful until you see her out the corner of your eye and suddenly it's teeth and primordial night. Stiles suppresses a shiver.

“Stiles,” Derek says quietly, frowning down at the line of Mountain Ash over the bottom step.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, stepping down and over it. “It's as much for keeping you in as her out.”

Derek can be pissed at him later, Stiles isn't letting the Queen get her hands on him.

“Little human,” She says, turning her ice clear eyes on him. “Seems there's more to you than we thought.”

“Yup,” Stiles says, popping the 'p' loudly. He slings the poker over his shoulder and watches the way she flinches from it. “I'm guessing you wanted some seriously bad shit to go down here today. Unluckily for you the only thing that went down was Derek.”

He hears Derek muffle a laugh behind him and it makes him smile. He makes a good smile, lets everything he'd do to protect the pack inform it, knows that it's dark and awful because Scott _hates_ it when Stiles smiles like this. The Queen twitches.

“He shouldn't have been able to resist,” she says, her tone still haughty. “Obviously you're a magician of high order. You hide well.”

“Nope,” Stiles says after a bark of laughter. “Just the human. Just the ordinary dude who runs around with a bunch of extraordinary dudes. And ladies.”

“You're more than that,” the Queen says, looking over Stiles' shoulder at Derek. Stiles resists the urge to look at Derek, just like he's resisting the urge to check around the edge of the clearing.

“Well, I'm pretty smart,” Stiles allows, scratching the back of his neck and leaning on the poker. “Oh, and I've been told I'm pretty killer in the sack. You know. For my age.”

“You shouldn't be able to do the things that you do,” the Queen says, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Yeah?” Stiles tilts his head thoughtfully. “Well, I guess I'm just awesome like that. Someone once told me I was the 'spark'. It's got a nice _ring_ to it, don't you think?”

Faeries are twisted and cunning, the stories say, and their love for messing about with mankind is only outweighed by their fear of cold iron. They say that sometimes there are people who have iron inside them, people that the faeries can't touch, and they destroy those people by hurting everyone around them instead. Stiles has felt like he's made of iron since an old man beat the hell out of him and he still, eventually, got up and saved the day.

Turns out for all the things people say about faeries – they're not as quick as five really well trained werewolves. The Queen is surrounded by a ring of iron quicker than she can react, the pack having heard the code word Stiles texted to them, and she snarls as her glamour falls away. There's the ugly, shrivelled face Stiles had been able to see out the corner of his eye.

“Checkmate,” Stiles says, because he always enjoys a classic. The others shift in behind him and Lydia breaks the line of Mountain Ash so Derek can step down and join them.

“Your majesty,” Stiles says, an edge of mocking in his tone. “Allow me to present my Alpha. He'll take over the negotiations.

The Queen hisses and spits and lunges, trapped in her circle, and before the others can react Stiles has stepped forward, his poker pressed against the pale skin of her neck. She makes a horrible noise and shrinks back, the flesh burning.

“Behave,” Stiles says, stepping right to the edge of the circle. “You know I won't hesitate.”

She holds his eyes for a long moment and then straightens, gathering her glamour back around her. She shifts her focus to Derek and Stiles moves away. The pack touch him as he heads back to the house, reassuring themselves, and Lydia smiles at him. He knows she's responsible for making his **faerie trouble bring iron and ash** text into a plan that actually worked. He smiles back.

Stiles lets the pack reassure themselves before pulling away and going back into the house. He sits down on the couch and lets himself shake, lets himself freak out about how he gets away with shit all the time. _Faeries._ Seriously. He's going to have to make a whole new entry in the Cloud Bestiary they've been building. After half an hour Derek joins him, taking the poker from his white knuckled grip and pulling him into a hug.

“I think that's a sufficiently terrifying send off,” Stiles says, letting Derek's touch comfort him.

“You were amazing,” Derek says and Stiles looks at him sharply, not used to that level of praise. “You were.”

“I was working on what I could remember from stories and Terry Pratchett books,” Stiles says, folding shaking hands together. “I'm lucky I didn't get us all killed.”

“You didn't,” Derek points out, wrapping his hands around Stiles'.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, letting out a breath. “All the same – I really hope I don't have to do that again any time soon.”

“You won't,” Derek says, releasing his hands and pulling at him until he lies down with his head in Derek's lap. “They've ceded to our rights. They'll take their Court somewhere else.”

“You're not telling me something,” Stiles says. He can feel the tension in Derek's legs.

“They think you're the Protector of the Preserve or something,” Derek says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “She's got strange ideas about you.”

“Oh, right,” Stiles says. He taps his fingers against his chest. “That's good, I guess? They'll leave us alone.”

“She wanted to barter for you,” Derek says, his voice slipping the closest to a growl Stiles has ever heard. “I refused.”

“Good of you,” Stiles says. One of Derek's hands comes to rest in his hair, circling restlessly. “She has to know I wouldn't leave you, right? You're mine.”

Stiles' words aren't quite coming out how he means them to and he feels the flush creep up the back of his neck and into his ears. He swallows and closes his eyes.

“I know,” Derek says quietly, his other hand coming to rest over Stiles' on his chest for a moment. “We know.”

“Good,” Stiles says, marvelling as always that Derek can see Stiles' intent even when it gets lost. “We're okay, right?”

“We're okay,” Derek says, smiling the small smile he seems to keep just for Stiles. Stiles lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

“Although,” Derek says after a long moment of silence. “If it's me that gets affected next time I'm going to get suspicious.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Stiles says, hitting him in that ridiculously well made chest. “You're not all that.”

“You said I was incredible,” Derek says, his mouth quirking into a teasing smirk.

“I said your _mouth_ was incredible,” Stiles corrects frowning. “And I was under the influence at the time.”

“So you _don't_ think I'm hot?” Derek asks and he actually pouts, which is ridiculous and endearing and makes Stiles laugh.

“Objectively you are the hottest guy ever, and the amount of times I have to tell you that makes me worry about your self-esteem,” Stiles says, waving a hand as he tries to swallow down the laughter. “If only your personality was better. You're no prince charming.”

“Some people prefer the beast,” Derek says, almost conversationally.

“The beast was secretly a prince,” Stiles points out. “I don't think this metaphor works.”

Derek laughs and Stiles is stuck on the part where the metaphor kind does work but he doesn't want to admit it – especially not to himself. That way madness lies. This is so much better than anything else, anyway, all the words and smiles from Derek that no-one else gets. Stiles isn't going to be stupid enough to spoil that with a crush.

**Author's Note:**

> The dub-con, this week, is the Faerie Queen making it so that Derek is uncontrollably attracted to Stiles. They manage to reach a compromise and consent is given as much as possible. Both parties enjoy the sex.


End file.
